Like a Bullfighter
by LilyChristmas
Summary: Lovino Vargas is an art student who has been roped into spending his summer in Spain, studying architecture while his brother perfects his already pretty perfect painting techniques. And then he meets Antonio, a cheerful, idiotic (and sexy) bullfighter. Follow his journey through the summer, and all the cussing and blushing that is included, and maybe, even a little romance.
1. Arrival

Lovino huffed.

He had just finished unpacking his things, and was completely, utterly, entirely exhausted. He didn't even have that much to unpack, but with the blazing summer sun beaming in through the curtain-less windows, and the fact that this room hadn't been cleaned in a while, it had taken a lot more time and effort than he had anticipated. No doubt his idiot of a brother was done already; he had a knack for cleaning and other shit like that.

Lovino Romano Vargas and his brother Feliciano had been accepted (or dragged, in his case) into an art exchange program for the summer. Feliciano had submitted his rough architectural designs in without him knowing, along with his own paintings. So when he received his own acceptance letter into the program, he was shocked that he received one, furious that the idiot had sent his _rough sketches_ to a _formal viewing_ , and maybe a little flattered that they thought they were decent enough to look at further.

Only a little, damnit. Like, a miniscule fraction.

So after chasing his dumbass brother around their villa in Italy, ignoring his grandfather's pleas to just calm down and assurances that this was great news, while his younger _fratello_ ran away shrieking like a girl and wailing that he was sorry and he just didn't want to be there all alone. So that was how he found himself plopped down in the middle of hot-as-balls Spain, where he would remain until September when the program ended. He groaned. If it was already this hot in June, how hot would it get in August? Damn it. At least his home in Italy had curtains and shade.

Italy: 1. Spain: Fucking _0_.

But he had to admit, the landscape here _was_ kind of nice. And…he _had_ gotten a few ideas from looking at the rustic and simple, yet somehow still beautiful buildings he had passed by on his way to the dormitories. But Italy still trumped it by _far._

So no, this wasn't how he planned to spend his first summer out of high school. But he figured that since he was here, he may as well get _something_ out of it.

- _Lovino_ -

He was considering whether or not to just pass out on his bed when a loud ' _THUD'_ and a squeak was heard. Sweet Maria on a fucking cracker, what now?

He stomped over to the front door, swinging it open. He was met with a pair of purple (?) eyes and a scrawny teen laying on the floor. Surrounding him were a bunch of tubes and supplies, all of which seemed to have fallen out of the lonely cardboard box in front of him. His inner self told him to just close the damn door and take a fucking nap, but his damn conscience brought him forward to help pick up all of his stuff. The blonde smiled.

"Oh, thank you so much! One of my drafts fell out of the box and I tripped on it…."

Lovino raised an eyebrow.

"It's fine, I guess. Are you my neighbor or something?"

Well done, Lovino. Way to show off that stellar fucking personality. Matthew just nodded.

"I am. My name's Matthew Williams, by the way."

"Lovino Vargas. Nice to meet you."

"Well, Lovino, would you like to come inside my room for a bit? I bought some ice cream and snacks, because I'm expecting my brother. But there's more than enough for you, too!"

Lovino cursed his fucking conscience for getting him into this mess and farther from his bed. But this guy seemed nice enough, and it _was_ pretty damn hot…

"Sure. Why not?"

- _Lovino_ -

This was a fucking _awful_ idea.

While Matthew was a pretty calm and quiet illustration student, his older brother Alfred was the total opposite; a loud, brash, inconsiderate asswipe studying graphic design. Matthew seemed to be fairly practiced in tuning him out, and Lovino had experience with it as well, having to learn how to ignore his brother's annoying-as-fuck verbal tick ("Ve~"), lest he punch him in the face whenever he said it. And he said it a _lot._

Ha! Take that Nonno! He did _not_ need to speak to a fucking anger-management counselor, fuck you very much!

Well, maybe a little.

Whatever! Anyway, neither of them were paying attention to what he was saying, and yet he continued to speak, obviously not giving a damn.

"It's so hot here, right? I mean, it's super-hot. Not as hot as this English dude I bumped into, though. He was hot, but his eyebrows were _enormous._ But now that I think about it, he was more cute than hot-"

Matthew just nodded, letting Alfred continue rumbling on about this British fucker, the heat, and the lack of McDonalds. Idiot.

"So, what are you studying?"

"Um. Architecture."  
"Really? That's interesting. Do you think I could see some of your stuff soon?"

He blinked. Who exactly was this guy? It was like he was so nice that even _he_ couldn't cuss him out. And he cussed out _everybody._ So all he could do was mumble something that sounded like a 'maybe' instead of a 'hell no', and promptly got his groove back when Alfred threw an arm around both of their shoulders, saying how 'awesome it was that Mattie was finally bonding with someone'. Matthew squeaked in embarrassment, and Lovino back-kicked the loud asshole in the gut for getting too far into his personal space, swearing in three languages, fluently. Alfred just laughed from his spot on the floor.

 _Idiot._

- _Lovino_ -


	2. Enter the Ring

After managing to pull Lovino away from the obnoxious fucker, he asked if he wanted to join them and their group for breakfast. Lovino had just blinked. Back in high school, he had been the thorny stem to Feliciano's blooming rosebud. He had assured himself that he didn't need those assholes anyway; that he was a lone wolf. A strong, manly, stylish lone wolf. So he had never been...sought out before. So against his better judgement, he had muttered something equivalent to an "I guess", and Matthew had just smiled and waved goodbye as he left/ran from the room, rubbing his red cheeks.

- _Lovino_ -

Loving was awakened from blissful slumber when a pounding on his door jerked him awake. Sitting up, he spun from left to right, searching for an unknown threat in his still half-asleep state. Then an obnoxiously loud voice assaulted his eardrums.

"Wake up you Italian wiener! Breakfast is starting soon, and Mattie won't let us leave without you!"

"You fuckwit! Be quiet! It's only... _seven?_ What the _fuck,_ asshole?"

"What's the problem?"

"What the ever loving _fuck_ are you doing banging on someone's door at _seven in the fucking morning?_ "

"Why are you so cranky, bro?"

"Cranky? I'm not fucking _cranky._ I'm pissed the fuck off that some loud, inconsiderate piece of _shit_ is banging on my door at _SEVEN O'CLOCK IN THE GODDAMN-"_

Alfred let out a squawk, and rubbed the abused spot on the back of his head. Matthew rolled his eyes, and scolded him about being respectful of others, especially at this hour. He turned to Romano's door.

"I'm really sorry about that, Lovino. He won't do it again, will you Alfred?"

"I didn't even-"

 _"Will you, Alfred?"_

Alfred pouted.

"No, I won't. _Sorry."_

Matthew smiled and continued on, ignoring Alfred's indignant muttering.

"Well, just get ready. Meet us by the front doors when your done, alright?"

"Fine. But if that loud asswipe wakes me up like that _ever_ again, I will put my foot so far up his ass it'll leave a footprint on his _small intestine."_

- _Lovino_ -

Lovino was on his way to meet them when he was pounced on by Feliciano.

"Damnit Feliciano, get the fuck off of me!"

"No~! It's been so long since I saw you, _fratello!"_

"You saw me two days ago!"

"It seemed much longer! You've been so busy fixing up your room that we haven't spoken!"

"What _ever,_ just get off of me, damnit!"

He finally wiggled out of his brothers' vice-like grip; Feliciano still smiling like an idiot, unaffected.

"Ve~ _fratello!_ I met my neighbors! They're so nice~!"

"Don't go befriending weird people!"

"But they really are nice! Kiku is pretty quiet, but super polite! And Ludwig is really tall and strong!"

Lovino rubbed his temples. One day, his moronic brother was going to be murdered in his sleep by someone he said was 'really nice'. And then he'd have to find a way to bring him back to life so he could strangle him for being such a fucking _idiot_.

"I can't wait to out and see the sights! It's so beautiful here, almost like Italy! And the sun is shining so brightly, oh it's just full of inspiration waiting to be tapped into! And guess what, _fratello_? I got us VIP passes to a bullfight this Saturday!"

What.

"A bullfight? What makes you think I want to see a _bullfight,_ of all things?"

"Please come, _fratello_! I'm sure it'll be fun! Besides, I heard that it's almost _impossible_ to get tickets to see one when this matador is a part of it, because he's so popular!"

"Well, how did _you_ get not only tickets, but VIP passes?"

"Luddy's older brother is friends with the star matador, and he's always inviting him and his friends over to see the fights!"

Lovino grimaced. He _really_ didn't feel like leaving his dorm more than necessary.

"Come join us! Besides, how are you going to get a feel for Spanish architecture if you stay inside all day?"

Damn it, fucker had a point.

"Fine. But I'm only coming to observe for my class, alright?"

"Yay! _Mi fratello_ is coming with us!"

"And you're buying snacks!"

"Yep!"

-Lovino-

That's how, on Staurday Lovino found himself standing in front of the enormous arena where where the event would take place. He reluctantly admitted that the obviously old building was well made and attractive to the eye. He snapped a few photos with his phone; he'd upload them to his laptop for reference later. He didn't want Feliciano getting the idea that he _liked_ being here.

And he couldn't take photos inside, so there was that too.

Feliciano had brought a sketch pad with him, excitedly chattering about how he was certain that he'd find _tons_ of inspiration in such a wonderful place. Lovino had grunted in what he hoped sounded like agreement. Ludwig led their group, consisting of himself, Feliciano and Lovino, and Matthew. Lovino had practically dragged Matthew along, Matthew assuring him that it was no problem, and that he didn't mind going at all. They wound up at a large doorway, much less crowded than the main one they had just passed, and were approached by a very loud, very irritating albino.

"There's my baby brother! It's awesome how you _finally_ took up my offer to come see one of the fights. You've been in this program two years straight, and you've never seen one! Always such a damn stick in the mud!"

"Hello, Gilbert. And I've been busy studying, you know that-"

"Blah blah blah, advertising, blah blah blah, working, blah blah blah I have no time for friends or anything remotely fun-"

This is the point where Lovino would have punched him in the throat, but Ludwig just sighed, as if was used to it. Poor bastard.

"Anyway, who are these guys? Your new pals? Finally!"

"Please stop, Gilbert. And this is my neighbor, Feliciano, his brother Lovino, and Lovino's friend Matthew."

"Awesome to meet you!"

Feliciano waved, Matthew smiled, and Lovino grunted again.

"Let's head inside, shall we?"

- _Lovino_ -

The inside was just as impressive, if not more, than the outside. They walked down a hallway into the arena, and Lovino couldn't help but gape a little. His inner artist was a little disheartened. If only he could take some damn photographs...

But they were very close to ground level. The loud crowds were a distance away, leaving them in their own little cocoon to watch the fight. A blonde man stood up to greet them.

"Well, well, well! Look at these cute little companions Ludwig brought with him!"

Feliciano "Ve~"d and waved again, Matthew blushed a little, but nodded a greeting, and Lovino just stuck a middle finger at him. He was _not_ fucking cute.

"Francis, quit being a fucking perv."

"I apologize, _mom ami,_ but I _am_ French, and the French are lovers before anything else, you see!"

"Whatever, bro. Just keep your hands to yourself."

Francis pouted, but it didn't last long.

"If you insist, my friend! Hurry and sit down, it's about to begin!"

- _Lovino_ -

Lovino wasn't all that impressed.

Sure, the fights were a little interesting to watch, but he hadn't been overly wowed by them. The two older men insisted that these fighters paled in comparison to their friend, but he was skeptical. Although, he _was_ rather hard to please. That's why 90% of his works didn't ever see sunlight; he always found _something_ wrong with them. But the main event was about to begin, anyway, and Lovino watched the opening where the bullfighters entered the ring.

Oh.

Oh, _damn._

The announcer introduced him as Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, the most promising young bullfighter the country had seen since his grandfather. Instead of the common plain red cape, the young man's cape bore the Spanish flag. His chocolate brown hair bounced as he entered, and emerald eyes sparkled as he waved to the crowd, who had exploded into cheers. He passed their area, and he enthusiastically waved to his friends, who whistled and waved back. His eyes moved from one person to another, until they made eye contact. Lovino could feel his face burn as the Spainard's grin took on a more...flirtatious vibe.

He was _so fucked._

 _-Lovino_ -


	3. The Bullfighter

Not even the thick, stone walls could drown out the deafening roar of the audience above him. Whenever the crowd let out a unanimous _'ole',_ he knew that his fellow bullfighters had danced with danger and won, managing to wow them. Antonio grinned. _Dios mio,_ did he love that sound.

Checking to make sure that his outfit was secure and neatly placed, he glanced over at the photograph on the table in front of him. It was a picture of his grandfather, in all of his glory. He was smiling widely, and was holding a smaller version of himself. His _abuelo_ had been the one to ignite his love of the sport, and many said that his talent ran through Antonio's own veins. Throughout the warm days spent learning everything there was to know, his _abuelo_ always said that what made a bullfighter great wasn't flash, wasn't arrogance, but the burning desire to do so. He always replied that he would make his grandfather proud, and in return he would merely ruffle his hair and say that if he wanted to do it, he could, and that was that. He felt his smile slip a little. His other family members though...all he wanted to do was do what he loved.

But enough of that. It was time. He turned and grabbed his cape.

-Antonio-

When he entered the ring, the once muted cheers turned to thunderous roars, the sheer volume of it giving him an adrenaline rush. He gave a bow, and a wave. The cheers hadn't died down in the slightest; if anything, they increased. He chuckled as he passed by a group of young women, winking at them. Shrieks assaulted his eardrums in return, but he was used to it. He knew he was a heartbreaker, but despite his naturally flirtatious and affectionate nature and his massive popularity, he wasn't really invested in the whole 'play the field' mentality. He was looking for _su amor; su corazon, su preciado de un._ He was searching for his love; his heart, his cherished one. Gil and Francis called him crazy and overly sentimental, but he knew they were out there somewhere.

Speaking of the devils, the other two pieces of the 'Bad Touch Trio' were howling along with the crowd, whistling and laughing. He grinned, waving enthusiastically. Who were those people sitting with them? He knew the taller blonde was Gilbert's _hermano menor._ But the other blonde he had never seen before. Moving on, he saw the cutest little...Italian? He was going to say Italian. And finally, on the very end...

 _Dios mio,_ there he was.

He was definitely related to the one on his left, but he was...different. He was a little taller; a little more built, but he was still waifish and lean. His hair was a shade darker, with a peculiar curl sticking straight outwards. His brother had one too, but it tilted a little lower. Unlike his brother, he wasn't overly excited, or excited at all, it seemed. His face was distinctly unimpressed, at least, until they made eye contact. Sweet Maria, those _eyes._ They weren't brown, nor were they green. They were a swirling whirlpool of natural hues that he felt like he could drown in, if it were possible. Antonio felt the smile that Francis insisted _"would get you laid, Toni, if you would only go through with it! Yeah, you unawesome asshole, quit hogging the attention if you aren't going to do anything about it!"_. The response was almost immediate; his face shot through at _least_ four shades of red, and his curl seemed to...twitch? Hm. But he reminded him of a juicy, ripe tomato.

They always had been his favorite fruit.

But instead of swooning or giggling, his face contorted into a (still quite cute) little scowl. Ah. So he was not easily impressed, was he? Well, all the more reason to put on a show. He'd give it all he had. The bull was released, and the fight began.

- _Antonio_ -

"Wow, that asshole really is doing awesome today, isn't he?"

" _Oui._ But I wonder what this new _passion_ oozing from him is stemming from."

"Yeah, me to- _wait._ You don't mean?"

"I do. Our little Toni is certainly, completely, undeniably in love~"

"That _fucker._ Why didn't he say anything?"

Francis just hummed, and turned his eyes back towards Antonio. His movements were more fluid than ever, the snap of his cape crisper than before. Every step, every twist, every turn screamed seduction, and he wondered if maybe, just maybe...

Aha. There it was.

The heated gaze rested on one spot for a second too long. Leaning over, he saw the older Vargas brother...Lovino, was it? He saw him nearly burst into flames, his face was so red. He chuckled and leaned back into his seat.

"What? What! Francis, you unawesome asshole, what's happening?"

"Our Toni seems to want some Italian for dinner tonight~"

"Some Italian- _fuck._ Happy one or bitchy one?"

"Bitchy one."

"Of course he does."

"He never was one to back down from a challenge, was he?"

Gilbert groaned.

"How could he do this to us? It's supposed to be a _trio,_ not a duo! How the hell are we supposed to keep up our awesome reputation if one of our dumbasses is after somebody?"

"We will still be an infamous trio, don't you fret. Besides, that petite little blonde seems to have taken a liking to you~"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP."

- _Antonio_ -

They screamed _'ole'_ one final time as Antonio ended his fight. He was sweaty, and his muscles ached, but his heart pounded. He looked over to where the object of his affections was sitting, and found him talking to the other blonde. An unfamiliar, dark feeling washed up in him as he chatted with him. Who was he? Was that his boyfriend? No, if it was his boyfriend, they would be sitting next to each other. Best friend? Damn it, what was going on? But the feeling dissipated when he looked over at him again, flushed, and squirmed. Oh, he liked what he saw, all right. He was sure of it.

So he strolled up to where they all sat, hopped over the ledge, and rested his arms on the front wall.

" _Hola, mi amigos._ Did you enjoy the fight?"

"Hell yeah, Toni! You were amazing!"

"Thanks, Gil."

" _Oui._ You were quite passionate out there my friend. Dare I say, seductive. Anything you want to tell us?"

The two snickered as a dusting of red fell over his cheeks.

"That's not important! _Hola,_ Ludwig. Who are your friends?"

" _Hallo,_ Antonio. These are Matthew Williams, and Feliciano and Lovino Vargas."

"Ve~ It's really nice to meet you! You were so cool out there!"

"Aw, thank you!"

His eyes finally landed on his desire. _Dios Mio,_ he was even more alluring up close. He leaned forwards.

"It's nice to meet you too."

"W-what are you doing? Back away, damnit! You're too close!"

"Aw, don't be so cold, Lovi~!"

Lovino's eye twitched.

"The fuck is a _Lovi?"_

"You are!"

"It's Lo-vi-no."

"I know that, Lovi~"

"Stop it!"

"Make me."

The Italian flushed at the words. Damn, his voice. That accent was-disgusting! Really! It sent shivers down his spine-not like that! It was only a little sexy-no it wasn't! What the ever-loving _fuck,_ brain!

Antonio chuckled at the speechless Italian, who was opening and closing his mouth in a vain attempt to find words. Well, what fun it was to make him _squirm~_

Bad Antonio. Stop it. You're not Francis.

That's right. He was Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, and he would behave himself, and romance him properly! He would get to know him better, and win him over! And only then would he hold him _down and kiss that pout away leaving him gasping for air as he_ _ **cried out his name writhing and squirming and-**_

He shook his head, barely refraining from slapping himself. He took a deep breath and prayed that Lovi took his flushed appearance as exertion from the fight. This couldn't continue. He had only spoken with him, and _this_ was happening? He hadn't gotten one of... _those..._ since high school. Why now? It was time to go.

"Well, I'll see you later guys. And it was nice to meet you all, as well! As for _you,_ Lovi..."

He unwrapped his cape from around his arm.

" _This_ is for you. I hope you'll come see my next fight next Saturday."

"W-what? Why the fuck-"

"Just consider it a souvenir."

- _Lovino-_

Before he could scream at the bastard, he had already hopped down and jogged back to the opening. And damnit, he absolutely did _not_ stare at his ass while he did.

Fine. Maybe a little.

Fuck, he stared at it a lot, alright? Why don't _you_ try not staring at it, sanctimonious assholes?

He unconsciously held the cape tighter towards his chest. He saw others eye it, and he refrained from hissing at them. Now that he thought about it, he could make a shit-ton of money by selling this thing. But some stupid fucking part of him didn't want to get rid of it. It was _his._ He groaned. He was _so fucked._

"Ve~ Lovi got a souvenir! Can I hold it, _fratello?_ "

"NO! And don't fucking call me that!"


	4. Runaway Hearts

- _Antonio_ -

"Antonio."

"Hm?"

" _Antonio._ "

"Hm?"

"Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, you unawesome fucker, I swear if you don't snap the fuck out of it right fucking now I will tell your precious _'Lovi~'_ about the one time you got so shit-faced at a party that you jumped out of someone's window naked and landed in a fucking tree!"

The results were instantaneous. Antonio perked to attention, windmilling his arms as he fought to maintain balance on his perch on the back of a recliner. It was a losing battle, and he let out a yelp as he fell, and then a groan as he hit the floor. He glared up at his albino friend.

"You wouldn't."

"I would, and you fucking _know it."_

"You promised to take that to your grave!"

"Don't make me break my promise, then!"

"What about when you crawled up on stage and started bawling while singing a horrible rendition of _'Stronger'_ after that Elizabeta chick broke up with you?"

"She left me for an Austrian music nerd! I was _justified."_

Antonio merely snorted, and Gilbert tackled him. They rolled around for a minute, trying to put the other in a headlock. Francis merely finished retying his ribbon keeping his long, quite fabulous hair in a ponytail.

"No breaking the bullfighter, Gil. He's valuable."

"I _know_ Francis. But he's ruining our Guy's Night."

"Well, _excuse me_ for having a romantic _crisis_."

"Man, you are much more fun when you are a cheerful idiot."

"Gilbert!"

"What? It's the truth."

"Be that as it may, Antonio here has fallen down the deep, mysterious tunnel that is _amour._ We should celebrate."

"Dude looks fucking depressed, Francis. Should we be celebrating or comforting? Either way, it requires a shit-ton of more alcohol, which I am going to fetch."

Antonio threw himself face down onto a red beanbag. Gilbert plopped down next to him in a yellow one once he returned from the kitchen with said alcohol.

"I don't know why you're so worked up over this. You spoke to him all of _once,_ and the guy cussed at you for half of that."

Antonio groaned.

"You just don't _get it,_ Gil. His eyes…they held so much emotion. Those hazel orbs burned with an inner fire that scorched my very soul-"

"You sound like Francis, _damn._ "

Francis crossed his legs from his spot on the other recliner.

"And what is wrong with that? I am an excellent lover, well-skilled in the arts of romance. You _wish_ you could sound like me, you uncouth heathen."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, taking another swig of his beer. Francis smirked and took another sip of his wine. Antonio groaned into the beanbag again. Gilbert was right. He was being ridiculous. But he couldn't help it. He had found what he had been aching for ever since the fallout. The minute he had made eye contact, he knew he was gone. But he had felt a swell of emotion he never had before, and it was _amazing._ It was as if the ever-present hole he had in his heart had healed immediately. The loneliness…the feeling of walking through this empty house all alone, all gone. He felt _whole._ His heart wasn't his anymore, and he didn't know if that was a good or bad thing, honestly.

He wondered if Lovino had kept the 'souvenir' he had given him. He hoped so. It had been a spur of the moment deal, his heart pounding and body moving instinctively. He'd never forget the wide-eyed, red-faced look his Lovi had given him as he accepted them token of his affection. He allowed his imagination to run free, conjuring an image of Lovino clutching his cape to his chest, sighing happily and blushing that cute blush as he thought of who had given it to him. That was nice. That was very nice. He felt his eyes glazing over again, lost in his dream world where his Lovi longed for him in return as much as Antonio did for him.

His dream world was destroyed in an instant when Gilbert's loud protests rang in his ears.

"I do _not,_ you unawesome fucker!"

"You do. You may not be as bad as Antonio, but you're on your way."

Shut the fuck up!"

"So you're telling me, if that cute little shy blonde chose another, you'd congratulate him?"

"Well, no, but-DAMN IT! Stop planting fucking ideas in my head!"

"It's not planting if they're already there~!"

"FUCK!"

Groaning a third time, Antonio stuck an arm out to get another beer. He was far to sober for this.

- _Lovino_ -

Antonio was half-right.

He wasn't sighing, swooning, or longing, but he _was_ clutching the damn thing to his chest, wondering why the fuck he even cared in the first place. He should have just gotten rid of the thing, or have listed it on Ebay by now, but he couldn't do it. And he didn't want to know _why_ he couldn't do it. Burying his burning face into the fabric, he couldn't help but inhale the scent. It smelled like…tomatoes, earth, and sunshine. And he _knew_ sunshine didn't have scent, but if it did, that's what it would fucking smell like, alright?

He had folded it _(folded it, damn it)_ and put it in a box under his bed, but here he was, ten o'clock at night, unable to sleep. So for some strange reason, he decided to drag the cape (Being careful not to rip it) out of its hiding spot, and _snuggle_ with the fucking thing. It was all that bastard's fault for being so…so…flirtatious!

He couldn't help but feel…special. Normally people fawned over his brother, who was much cuter and more talented. He couldn't help but feel a little hurt, damn it! But that stupid fucking Spaniard made him feel important and wanted. It killed him to admit it, but it was nice to have someone give _him_ attention and affection for once. Fuck, he was pathetic. But that didn't stop him from clutching the cape close as he snuggled under the covers, letting the scent surround him and lull him to sleep.


	5. Their Cape

- _Lovino_ -

He didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

Scratch that, he knew what he was doing. He didn't know _why_ the fuck he was doing it.

" _I hope you'll come to my next fight next Saturday."_

Oh, right. That was why.

He was such a fucking _idiot._

So that was how he found himself sneaking past Feliciano's door (didn't know why, fucker slept like a rock), and knocking on what he hoped was Ludwig's door (Feliciano had showed him, but he wasn't really paying attention) at nine o'clock at night on a Sunday. He didn't even know if he would answer. He chewed his lip as he waited, and was about to just turn around and leave when the door opened. Ludwig was completely unruffled, despite the hour. The only difference was that his hair wasn't slicked back as it had been during the day. Ludwig raised an eyebrow.

"May I help you, Lovino? You are aware of the time, and the fact that we start classes tomorrow?"

"I know that bas-"

He bit his tongue. No. He couldn't cuss him out, he was there with a request. He had to be _civil,_ lest he wind up with a door to the face.

"Look, I get it, damn it. But…I need another one of those passes."

Ludwig raised an eyebrow.

"May I ask why?"

His face burned.

 _Because I'm a fucking idiot whose traitorous heart decided to be a little bitch and fall for a fucking star bullfighter._

"It's none of your business! I just…need one."

"Well, I'll ask Gilbert if he can spare one."

"T-thank you. And _please,_ in the name of Holy Maria don't tell Feliciano."

"Why not?"

 _Because he'll probably wind up getting all the fucking praise and attention like he usually does, and I don't think I could fucking take it._

"I just don't want him annoying me, damn it! I want to watch the fight in peace!"

Ludwig raised his eyebrow again, as if he could literally smell the shitty lie that was coming out of his mouth. But he didn't say anything, only sighing and running a hand through his hair.

"Fine. I won't tell. But I hope you know what you're doing."

And with that, he shut the door.

- _Lovino_ -

That Friday, Ludwig handed him a plain, discrete manila envelope during lunch. Feliciano had whined when he wouldn't tell him what was in it, and the rest were curious as well. Lovino had told them all to mind their fucking business, and that it was only a map of Spain and a brochure so he could get started on his newest project. Feliciano had asked if he could come, to which Lovino had given a 'hell no' that left no room for discussion.

So that was how he found himself at the arena at noon, fingers tightening on his backpack straps. He tried to maneuver through the crowds without bumping anyone, but with how many people there were it was impossible. So by the time he reached the entrance, he was irritated as _fuck._

Both Gilbert and Francis raised their eyebrows at his facial expression.

"Wow, you didn't have to come if you're that angry about being here."

"Fuck off. That's not why I'm angry. Inconsiderate fuckers."

Gilbert laughed. He had a weird ass laugh, and he didn't like it.

"Kesesesese! Well, our Tonio _has_ brought it in quite a bit of business."

"Must be that Fernandez-Carriedo charm, _oui?"_

Lovino blushed. Asshole _was_ charming. Fuck. Whatever section of his brain was thinking these thoughts, he was going to bash it in with a hammer if it kept bringing those types of thoughts forward.

"Aw, look at that face! _Adorable!"_

He almost kicked him in the crotch, but he didn't want to dirty his foot. Fucker probably had a disease or something.

They made their way to the seats they had sat in last time, and the event began.

- _Antonio_ -

Antonio felt nervous.

He hadn't felt this nervous since his first fight. Would Lovi be there? Was he impressed last time? Was he upset at how forward he'd been? He shook his head. He couldn't be distracted. Distraction was dangerous in this sport. But he still hoped…

He trotted out when it was his turn, giving his usual bow and wave, but not paying as much attention. There were no flirty glances or blown kisses, and even the announcer stated how determined he looked. As they readied the bull, his eyes found their way to the box his friends frequented. And his eyes widened, and his smile hurt his cheeks.

Lovino was there next to his friends, looking much more interested than before. When the made eye contact, he waved him over. And in his hands was…his old cape? His heart sank. Was he going to turn him down, and give it back? He jogged over, and stood in his normal spot.

" _Hola,_ Lovi. I see you brought your souvenir. Are you…giving it back?"

"… _Ciao,_ Antonio. And…look-I just… _fuck."_

Antonio tilted his head. What was he so nervous about?

"I brought it because…normal red doesn't suit you, damn it. So…until you get a new one…I want you to… use…this one…"

Antonio's eyes widened as Lovi's voice trailed off into an embarrassed mumble. He could feel his own cheeks warm. He thought it suited him? He liked his performance that much? He gently took his old cape, still warm from where Lovi had it clutched in his hands.

"And I want that back, damn it! In one piece! So be careful, you fucker, so you don't tear it!"

 _Please be careful._

"Don't worry, Lovi! I'll take care of it!"

 _I will. I promise._

"As disgustingly cute as this exchange is, they're done checking over the bull. So you better get your corny ass down there, lover-boy."

Antonio laughed nervously at the nickname, and hopped down. He felt the cape flutter in the summer wind, and his heart pounded knowing that it was _Lovi's._ Lovi still _wanted it._ And he had come, all by himself, to watch him fight. That fight, people claimed, had been his best fight yet.

And it was all because _su estrella_ was watching.


	6. Questionable Behavior

- _Antonio-_

Antonio wiped his forehead and accepted the water bottle from the attendant. He turned to go back to his Lovi and ask him if he enjoyed the fight….

Only to see Francis hanging off of him, and Lovino cussing at him to get off.

Well, that just wouldn't do.

No, that wouldn't do _**at all.**_

He felt his face contort into a grimace/glare/'I'm going to _fuck you_ _ **up'**_ expression, and he power-walked over to the stands. He only grew angrier as he heard the conversation.

"Get _off of me,_ you French fuckface!"

"Oh, but your blush is so cute! I see why Toni enjoys you so much!"

"Let go, damnit!"

"You were so adorable, being all concerned for him like that! I wonder if Toni would mind sharing~"

"YOU FUCKING-"

" _ **Francis."**_

All three heads turned towards Antonio, who was smiling. But his smile seemed to sharp to be genuine, as if it had been cut from glass and stuck on his face, ready to shatter any second and reveal the true emotion underneath. All of them shuddered at the sight of it.

"Alright, that's enough. Let him go, _mi amigo._ "

Francis sighed, and released him. Lovino gave him a quick kick to the shins, and Francis hissed in pain. He turned towards Antonio.

"Your friend is a fucking pervert. I'm going to the bathroom to wash myself off."

"How cruel! I'm not filthy-"

Francis wanted to say something along the lines of _'you little fucker',_ but Antonio was right there, and he knew enough French to understand the gist of what he was saying to his precious Lovi evn if he spoke in his native tongue. And he already looked a more than a little pissed off under that grin. Antonio looked over at his Lovi, and his smile morphed into a more genuine one. Lovino was sort of relieved at the sight of it. He figured that he was imagining the smile from before.

"Alright! Come back when you're done, alright? I have something to ask you~!"

Lovino rolled his eyes at the childlike tone.

"Fine, damn it. But make it quick, I have to go back to school in a bit."

With that, he rose from his seat, searching for the restroom. Antonio waited until he was out of sight, and turned back to France.

"Ah, could you lean over a bit, Francis? I have to tell you something, and it's a little private."

Wary, Francis leaned closer. Once he was within his reach, Antonio grabbed his button-down and yanked him closer to his face, his unwavering angry stare showing that his irises had gone from a bright emerald to an oak tree's leaves at night.

"If I _ever,_ see you invading _mi amore's_ personal space again, or making him the _least bit_ uncomfortable, we are going to have _words. Painful, violent_ words. And I _do not_ and _WILL NOT_ 'share', so hands off him. And if you can't remember to keep your hands to yourself, I will dig my _old friend_ out of the basement and cut them off so you _can't forget._ _**Lo entiendes?**_ "

" _O-oui."_

" _Bueno._ _Lo digo en serio_ (I mean it) _,_ Francis. _Esto no es una amenaza, es una promesa_ (This isn't a threat, it's a promise).

Francis nodded, and Gilbert narrowed his lips. It was easy to forget that while his grandfather's cheerful nature ran through the young matador's veins, there were plenty of bad, dangerous people who he was just as equally related to. It wasn't until he was extremely angry or threatened that what they called the Carriedo's Curse came out. Antonio released his hold on Francis, and just like that, the cheerful idiot was back, as if nothing had happened. They shared a look of shared wariness, but the only way to tell was from the shade of his eyes, of all things. And the color had brightened, and he was blinking again, so it was over.

Little did they know was that Lovino had been watching the entire exchange with wide eyes and a gaping jaw.

- _Lovino_ -

As Antonio ran off to change, Lovino rushed up to the stands.

"Oh, you're back. Antonio just ran off to change, he'll be back in a moment-"

"What the fuck was _that?"_

They both flinched a little.

"What was what?"

"You _know_ what, you bastards. What _was_ that?"

Gilbert groaned, and Francis sighed.

"That, you little bastard, is what we call the Carriedo's Curse."

"Carriedo's what-now?"

"Carriedo's Curse. Let's just say that as a child, Antonio was around very bad people who did very fucked up things."

"We can't say much more than that; it's not our place. But our happy-go-lucky, dense-as-a-brick friend has a dark side that comes out whenever he's extremely angry or feels truly threatened somehow."

"You want to know more? Ask him yourself."

- _Lovino_ -

He bit his lip, and winced. He knew he didn't know him that well, but he felt a little lied to. It didn't seem possible. Sure, he didn't blame him for it; it wasn't like he could help it. It wasn't Antonio's fault, he was just a child. But how did someone who looked that sunny also manage to look so thunderous? There wasn't a crack in his persona at all. He chatted on as happily as ever, as if he _hadn't_ just threatened to seriously injure one of his best friends. But that just meant he was that seamless. They were both a part of him; neither a façade. He asked if Lovino and his friends wanted a tour around the nearby neighborhoods; a true representation of Spain, not those tourist traps. Lovino had mumbled a stunned _'I guess so'_ and Antonio had grinned the largest, most childlike grin he had ever seen on a grown man.

He wanted to ask.

He wanted to ask _so badly._

But he didn't know him well enough yet. That seemed like something you only tell the ones closest to you. But he really wanted to know.

Who _was_ Antonio Fernadez-Carriedo?


	7. BTT

- _Lovino_ -

A ruckus by the front gates of the main building drew Lovino's attention.

What the fuck?

He made his way over, noting that the screeching mob was made up of mostly girls. It was a damn _mob_ in there, and it was almost impossible to squeeze his way to the front without shoving a few out of the way (which made his inner Italian wince, it simply isn't done). He usually refrained from cussing at women, _especially_ young ones, but the cloud of mixing perfumes and shoving bodies were going to make him go against his personal rule _real damn fast_ if this kept up _._

Finally managing to shove close to the front, he glared up at the sky.

Of _fucking_ course.

Just beyond the gates were those three idiots. Now, he knew that Antonio was attractive, but he had to sort of begrudgingly admit that those other two losers were as well. Fuck his stupid, eighteen year-old hormones. They were still creepy fuckers, though.

- _3_ _rd_ _person_ -

Gilbert leaned against the gates, immersed in his phone, the very picture of sexy nonchalance. He wore baggy jeans, red converse, and a tattered black T-shirt that he somehow made look like it had just been ordered out of a fashion magazine. It had red and yellow words scrawled in German, and Lovino didn't know what it said, but it was most likely inappropriate. The dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but the silver hair was impossible to miss, along with the bird that rested on his head _("His name is Gilbird, isn't he awesome?")_. He was the rebellious delinquent that every girl shouldn't want, but did anyway.

Antonio sat on the ledge next to him, donned in a white V-neck that did nothing to hide his muscular torso ( _thank you,_ bullfighting). The Spanish flag was printed diagonally across his chest, with the words _'Viva_ _España_ _'_ stamped across his abdomen. He wore loose skinny jeans a shade lighter than Gilbert's pants, and high-tops. His tan sunglasses didn't completely hide his eyes, unlike the German's. He was leaning back, face towards the sun, tan skin illuminated. With the bouncy chocolate curls, bright green eyes, and extremely toned body, he was the Spanish male model who had just jumped off the page.

And finally, Francis leaned over next to Antonio, long blonde hair flowing in the warm wind. His upper half was in a light-blue, short-sleeved Oxford button-down. His dark-wash jeans were by far the tightest, and dressed up with dark-brown dress shoes. He was the cause of most of the screaming, not because he was the most attractive, mind you. It was because while he chatted with Antonio, every so often he would turn, lower his white sunglasses, and wink and/or smirk at the flock of screeching females. He was the romantic womanizer (disgusting perv, in Lovino's opinion) who knew how to make you swoon, and who _you_ knew would break your heart, but you couldn't help but fall into his clutches and/or bed.

This was the infamous Bad Touch Trio, a group of heartbreakers idolized by men and women alike. They were invited to all the parties, confessed to almost every day, and got in trouble almost twice as often as that. High school had been their playground; college their bitch. They were even rumored to have not gone through puberty, that one day * _poof*,_ they had all gone from rowdy kids to rowdy young adults, no acne, gangly limbs, or awkward hormones at all. Their senior prank had gone down in history for causing the largest clusterfuck the school had ever seen, from running water shorting out an entire computer lab, to melted chocolate everywhere, including teachers' desks, to a live llama that no one knew where the fuck they even got it. That wasn't even including the collateral damage; the llama had snuck into the library and munched on several books and some important paperwork before animal control captured it. School staff, police officers, animal control, the students, _every_ body knew they did it; but with no witnesses, no evidence, and an airtight alibi followed to the T by all three, they walked across that stage unscathed.

So when Antonio had packed up to head back to Spain to practice bullfighting, of _course_ his friends came with. His house, which was inherited from his _abuelo_ _,_ was enormous, with more than enough room for them to stay while they all attended college. From breakups, to stupid decisions (a _lot_ of stupid decisions), to hangovers, they all stayed together, and would stay together. And now Antonio was a famous bullfighter, Francis had his own extremely popular restaurant named _'L'Iris España'_ (The Spanish Iris), and Gilbert owned/bartended the exclusive club _'Rebellion'_.

In your faces, counselors. _'You're going to have a hard time in the future'_ their asses.

But Antonio looked over towards the gates again, hoping to see a glimpse of that stubborn curl that symbolized _su corazon_ 's presence. Ask, and you shall receive, because there he was glaring/scowling at all three of them, throwing irritated glances at the swarm behind once in a while. With a huff, he dug around in his bag before pulling out his student I.D. Flashing it at the security guard, he groaned out,

"They're with me. I take responsibility for them, for whatever fucking reason."

The guard nodded, and opened the gates. The three strolled in as if they opened the place, Gilbert laughing.

"I remember these days as a freshie. We had an awesome time, right guys?"

" _Si,_ Gilbert. Although, I could of done without Algebra. Or English. Or Economics. Or-"

"We get it, _mon ami._ The only classes you enjoyed were the exercise classes and study hall."

"I don't even know why you _liked_ Phys. Ed courses. You're such a lazy asshole outside of bullfighting."

" _Siestas_ are tradition-"

"You take like four a day-"

"Practice makes me tired-"

"What about outside of season-"

" _ **OI."**_

They all turned towards the irritated Italian, who looked ready to punch them all in the face.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"We're taking you on vacation!"

"What?"

"Kesesesese! We're kidnapping you and your friend Mattie for an awesome three day weekend! We wanted to take your bro as well, but Ludwig wouldn't go, so he didn't either."

Lovino looked ready to rip someone's balls off. Probably Ludwig's.

Most _definitely_ Ludwig's.

"What? But where the hell-"

"You'll stay at Toni's house, of course! It's amazingly huge. I'm sure there's enough space for a grouchy little Italian and a shy little Canadian."

"WHAT-"

"You agreed to let us show you around, Lovi~! You didn't think that we could do that in _one day,_ did you?"

"But, your fights-"

"Aren't until the week after next! And I know you don't have class on Saturdays, so it all works out~"

They must have taken his stunned/infuriated silence as agreement, because Antonio was dragging him away towards the dormitories.

"How the _hell_ do you know where you're going?"

"Didn't I tell you, Lovi? I went here as well! I was a Culinary Arts major, along with Francis, and Gil was a Digital Arts major~"

" _FUCK."_


	8. The Bullfighter's Castle

- _Lovino_ -

Somehow, the trio managed to drag Lovino and Matthew kicking and screaming (well, Lovino kicking and screaming) into Antonio's car. It was nice, but not as flashy as one would expect it to be. While Antonio was busy throwing their bags in the back, Lovino called shotgun. He felt sorry for Matthew, but there was no way in _hell_ he was sitting next to those weirdos. Although, it looked like Gilbert had the situation under control, glaring at Francis when he got to close. Matthew had damn near plastered himself to the albino's side, blushing fiercely. Was that what he looked like when he blushed?

That was _so damn embarrassing;_ what the ever-loving _fuck_?

Meanwhile, Antonio prattled on as he drove, pointing out things and giving a brief overview of things he found interesting. Most of it was just ridiculous fucking chatter in his opinion, though.

" _Oh, I love that store! I usually shop there if one of my clothes gets torn or worn down or something like that."_

" _This café has the most amazing churros! It's run by this old lady, and they're always so fresh!"_

" _This market is the best if you're buying fresh fruits and veggies! Oh, and spices as well…I should stop by there soon, I think I'm running low on a few things…"_

" _We were banned from that bar, I think. That one, or the one two blocks down…either way, it wasn't that great anyway. Right guys?"_

And one thing about Spain was that everyone drove so… _leisurely._ If he had driven like this in Italy, he would have been run off the road and cussed out in a heartbeat. But they all drove as if it was permanently Sunday morning, and the impatient honking he was used to was absent. And Antonio; well, Antonio…

His accent was sexy, all right? _Damn,_ he was fucking pathetic. Who was he, Feliciano? Where did his manliness go?

Antonio didn't seem to even notice it, but as he started naming off the familiar towns and places he wanted to show them, his accent grew more and more prominent until he was slipping into Spanish every other sentence. He pronounced the names with no hesitation; the syllables rolling off of his tongue naturally and fluently. He was damn near squirming in his seat at this point. He tried to keep up his air of bored, irritated indifference, but from the way Antonio glanced at him from the corner of his eye and smiled that slow, killer smile, he was doing a pretty shitty job of it.

 _Fuck,_ how much longer did they have?

- _Lovino_ -

About thirty minutes later, they drove through an ornate gate onto a stone pathway made of cobblestone instead of dirt or gravel. It twisted its way up a hill, and the house at the end of it was fucking _astounding._

" _Fuck…"_

"Wow…"

Both Matthew and he stared up at it. It was like a fucking _castle._ It was something you'd see nobility live in in the 1600's; majestic, daunting, and full of grandeur. He _had_ to take some damn photos, because that, that right there, was a work of fucking _art._ This was why Spain was considered to be one of the artistic capitals of the world. Because even all the way back then, they had put so much emphasis on the elegance and beauty of something, no matter how large or small. And this house was fucking _proof._

Antonio merely parked his car near the front doors, and hopped out to retrieve their bags; making his way over to the entrance. Lovino hopped out and followed.

"This place is gigantic, Antonio! Even if you are a celebrity, how the _fuck_ did you afford this?"

"I didn't buy it, Lovi. I inherited it, and everything within, from _mi abuelo._ It's been in _mi_ _familia_ for generations."

Lovino scrunched his eyebrows. But, what about Antonio's dad? How could you just skip a generation like that?

He was debating whether or not to say something, but Antonio had already made his way over to the now open front doors. He half expected a butler or servant or something to pop up, but Antonio merely made his way down the front corridor, humming to himself.

Lovino couldn't help but gape at all of the antique heirlooms that were littered throughout the entryway. From Matthew's small gasps, neither could he. He was almost nervous, afraid he'd knock over a fragile item worth his weight in euros if he wasn't careful. Antonio glanced behind him, and laughed.

"Don't be so nervous, Lovi. I've already knocked over plenty of expensive things when I was younger, running around this place!"

He flushed.

"Fucker! Don't act so nonchalant about destroying precious works of art!"

"It's only stuff, Lovi."

Lovino scrunched his eyebrows as Antonio's tone flattened, and his volume lowered. The tense silence that followed only lasted a minute, but it seemed to stretch out for hours. They reached the large spiral stairwell, and Antonio turned and stretched his arms outwards, his grin back as if it had never had left.

"Anyway! Welcome to my home, you guys! _Mi casa es su casa,_ and all that good stuff! The kitchen is straight down that way, and the main rec room is connected to that. There's another living room upstairs. There's plenty of bedrooms, so just pick the one you like best. If you take a right down the hall from the kitchen, it leads out the patio. Everything important is in the center of the house, so don't worry about getting lost."

Lovino groaned. Was that a possibility? Of fucking _course,_ in a house this size. _Damn it._

"We'll branch out tomorrow and Sunday. Tonight, we're going to stay local. Well, sort of~"

"And what do you mean by ' _sort of',_ you bastard?"

"Well, we're going to eat at Francis' restaurant, and then we're going clubbing at Gil's place!"

Lovino twisted his face up. He'd never really had a 'Friday Night Out' before. Clubbing? He'd never gone.

"Um…I don't think-"

"Come on Mattie! The awesome that is me owns the club. You'll be fine!"

"B-but…"

"Don't worry, _mon ami!"_

"Um-I-I don't have any clubbing clothes! Darn."

Lovino narrowed his eyes. Did he really think he was going to leave him all alone in this? Nice try, you little asshole. He didn't think so.

"I have some extra. We're about the same height, so it _should_ fit you."

Matthew glared.

" _Great."_

"Don't mention it _pal."_

Gilbert was already exclaiming about how awesome the night was going to be, and Francis threw an arm around his shoulders and agreed. Antonio threw an arm around his other side, and then they all started chanting ' _ole',_ after every sentence. Lovino groaned. If this was how they were while they were sober, who knows what they were like intoxicated?

Matthew shook his head and face-palmed, while Lovino was seriously contemplating walking back out the door.

This night was going to be a _clusterfuck._


	9. On the Way Out

- _Antonio_ -

He had graciously offered to be tonight's designated driver, to which Gilbert and Francis enthusiastically agreed. He had pretended to be disappointed, but in truth he had ulterior motives. See, him and _su amigos_ were different types of drunk.

Francis was a…lover's drunk. His normally sometimes overly-affectionate friend became a one-hundred on a scale of one-to-ten when it came to seducing people. He made use of all of his facilities on full blast, and he almost always landed a partner (or three, _that_ was an interesting ride home) before the night was over. Gilbert was a go-big-or-go-home drunk. His emotions swung like a pendulum, and they were always extreme. Either he was laughing his ass off, or he was sobbing uncontrollably. Or that one time he had over-estimated his _'awesomeness'_ , and tried to climb the vines on the side of his ex-girlfriend's house and tag her window. He had only made it halfway before the wood had cracked under his weight, and split right down the middle; the whole debacle had only lasted a few seconds and somehow he wound up with a piece of wood straight to the vital regions. Try explaining _that_ to a doctor at three A.M.

Which they had to do.

*Snicker*

But anyway, according to Francis and Gilbert, he was a… _confident_ drunk. Well, Francis had said that. Gilbert had just straight up called him an asshole drunk. And he knew he wasn't the best person when he was intoxicated…

Oh, who was he kidding?

He was a _dick._

Get him completely and utterly hammered, and he broke hearts, got into fights, and never turned down dares. It was like he was sixteen all over again; a cocky sonuvabitch who had no boundaries. Thankfully, he had quite a high alcohol tolerance, so he didn't reach that level very often, but when he had, did he do it _thoroughly._ He had recalled some nights that the morning after, he wanted to punch _himself_ in the face. The last time he had done so, he had been dancing, and he bumped into a girl. The girl had taken it that he was flirting, and (very snottily, in his defense) _informed_ him that she had a boyfriend. He had informed _her_ that 'fake-blonde, fake-boobed, catty bitches' weren't his type anyway. Long story short, the boyfriend came into the picture, taunts were made, punches were thrown, and a rather messy scene involving a broken bottle and a barstool had left him with scraped up knuckles, a bruise on his cheek, a bruised rib, and a promise the next morning to _never_ reach that level of drunk again. So out of fear that he would make an ass out of himself, especially in front of Lovi, the object of his affections whom he was trying to thoroughly win over, no, he would not be drinking.

- _Antonio_ -

The three men were waiting in the main room for the two younger ones to appear. It had been Matthew's turn to be dragged kicking and screaming (figuratively, unlike his Lovi) up the stairs, and they were waiting for them to emerge from Lovino's room. He had chosen the room next to Antonio's (he was more excited about that than he should have been), second closest to the stairs, so they could hear the thumps and bangs from over their heads. The sound of something breaking should have alarmed them, but the following shriek and responding shout of _"get your ass back here, Williams!"_ negated any fear of a threat. About an hour later, the violent noises stopped, and the echo of a door slamming open and slamming shut assaulted their eardrums. The voices grew clearer as they descended the stairs and made their way to the room where they were waiting.

"You, my friend, are one surprisingly wily fucker."

"I didn't even want to go in the first place! And what's with these clothes?"

"I am Italian, and therefore must always be impeccably dressed. It's in my DNA."

"But didn't you bring any hoodies with you? Or sweats?"

"Yes. But one, they are not sweats, they are _track pants_ with a matching jacket, and they are _Gucci_ , thank you very much. And two, you can't go out to a nice restaurant and club in _sweats,_ anyway."

"…You own Gucci sweats?"

"They're _not sweats._ And yes. Problem?"

"…I feel like I should have one with _something_ in this conversation. I just don't know what."

Lovino snorted.

"Let me know when you figure it out."

They arrived seconds after the end of the conversation, Lovino strutting in confidently, and Matthew shuffling behind him, looking rather uncomfortable. Antonio sat up straight from his position with his arms on his knees, eyes widening without his consent.

 _Dios Mio._

His Lovi looked… _wow._

Now, he hadn't seen Lovino in anything worn or that was oversized, but he hadn't seen him in clothes so… _form-fitting_ either. The tight, dark-wash jeans he wore left nothing to the imagination, hugging every curve and dip that he didn't know he had. The red button-down (which he left the top button undone, and he couldn't lie and say that he _wasn't_ dreaming of licking that collarbone) emphasized his trim waist and stood out against his lightly tanned skin. On top of that was a black vest left un-buttoned. Add a loosely tied black tie, a belt with stripes in the colors of the Italian flag, and clean-as-a-whistle, red and white, expensive looking high-tops (Lovino knew he was going clubbing after all, and wasn't planning on scuffing his nicest shoes), and you had a recipe for a sexy, yet somehow still cute Italian young man.

Matthew was Lovino's polar opposite. His jeans were a shade lighter, but still just as tight as Lovino's. His button down was a light blue and half-tucked, and was left un-buttoned to show off a white, tight V-neck. He was a little taller than Lovino, about a few centimeters or so, so every movement had a chance of revealing the skin of his torso. He didn't have on a tie, but he did have on a white hat that hid most of his unruly curls (somehow his one long hair strand still stuck out, though), and a grey and blue striped belt. On his feet were equally expensive looking black Converse, which were probably really Prada or something like that. The whole outfit looked like Lovi had _tried_ to compromise, but drew a stubborn line in the sand that Matthew still wasn't too comfortable with. He just screamed innocence, despite how he was dressed. He was the cute angel to his Lovi's enticing demon.

Francis just clicked his tongue at the idiotic sights his friends made. Gilbert had a confused, but wide-eyed stare, as if he knew _what_ he wanted, but didn't know _why._ So he just kept staring. Antonio just looked like how a hungry wolf would look before it ate its prey. He could almost _see_ the drool leaking out of his friend's mouth.

Ah, what _amour_ did to you.

- _Lovino_ -

He had spent a fuck-ton of time getting Matthew and himself ready. Picking out the clothes was easy, even though Matthew's outfit looked so informal it made him cry, but the real issue had been getting Matthew _in_ them. He had stamped his foot, yelling that _"damn it all, Williams, this is as dressed down as I am letting you leave this house."_ That led to him running after the panicking teen, ripping off articles of clothing every time he caught up with him. It was only when he was in his boxers and socks that he realized that no, he was not giving his clothes back, and yes, if he wanted to wear something he could either put on the damn outfit or walk down the corridor half-naked to his own room.

So that was how he found themselves standing in the entryway of the main room, _finally_ ready. He had strolled in like he owned the place, confident in the way that only your best, sexiest outfit could make you feel (no, he did not choose to bring this outfit because of the Spanish bastard. And so what if he did, damn it? Not that he _had_ ). It also didn't hurt that the young matador was zoned in on him, looking up and down slowly before meeting his eyes. He couldn't help but flush a little (a lot) when they made eye contact. He looked away, and scowled.

"So, are we fucking leaving or what?"

Antonio blinked, and then shook his head to clear it.

" _Que?_ Oh! _Si, si_! Let's go, _mi amigos,_ while the night is still young!"


	10. Drunken Problems

- _Antonio_ -

This was such a _bad_ idea.

And yet a very, _very_ good one.

Maybe he should start from the beginning.

- _Antonio_ -

He grabbed the keys to the SUV, and Lovino raised an eyebrow.

"Why the fuck are you taking such a large car?"

"You'll see, Lovi. _Oh,_ will you see."

Lovi had just continued to look skeptical, but Antonio had merely thrown his head back and laughed as he thought of _why_ he needed it, and how the tradition of taking it had come about.

" _Sit down, Gil."_

" _Don't you have any fucking chicken in here?"_

" _No, Gil. I don't carry chicken in my car."_

" _Goddamnit. Then stop at that food truck we hit last week. They had some damn good…pick-chocos. Pick-Cheetos. Some shit like that."_

" _ **Pinchitos**_ (like a shish-kabob, but with less vegetables and more meat) _ **, mi amigo**_ _. And it's probably not in the same spot. And even if it is, it's closed, anyway."_

" _We should check."_

" _No, Gil. You're going home to sleep this off."_

" _Come_ _ **on,**_ _it'll only take a second!"_

And then Gilbert had grabbed the wheel from over his shoulder, almost causing them to crash before he smacked his hands away. So now they took a three-row car, and put Gil in the back. Even if he _did_ manage to climb over the seat into the second row, his screwed-up depth-perception and onset of dizziness usually just left him hanging over the seat, where he more-often-than-not just passed out. He had a feeling that if he told Lovi this story now, then he wouldn't go anywhere _near_ that car. And that'd be a shame, he really wanted him to come.

He _really_ wanted to see Lovi dance in those pants.

So instead, he merely shook his head and opened the front door for him. Lovino blushed at the display, and hurried through. It was adorable how easily he blushed if he was shown the slightest bit of affection or interest. But it made him feel upset at the same time. His Lovi obviously wasn't used to being treated this way, judging from the almost shocked look he gave him every time he flirted with him. People were probably thrown by his tendency to loudly cuss, scowl, and/or physically harm people, but it was a hair-trigger response to embarrassment and/or un-comfort. If _he_ could see that (his friends always commented that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but it was alright, because he was _their_ cheerful idiot), other people _had_ to be able to. It broke his heart, but he'd just have to make sure he didn't break Lovi's.

As if he ever would.

- _Lovino_ -

They had gone to Francis' restaurant first, and he had to admit, it was kind of impressive. It had nothing on Italy's restaurants, of course, but it was tastefully decorated, with soft, natural hues paired with deep red and royal blue accents. And the food was decent, for French food at least. Again, nothing on Italian cuisine, but it tried its hardest.

Two of the three idiots were already starting off their night, it appeared, because both Francis and Gilbert had ordered wine ( _"I don't think wine is very awesome, but it'll get me buzzed enough to start until I can down some_ _ **awesome**_ _shit at my place." "You just can't enjoy the finer things in life." "Finer-Francis. It's fucking alcoholic grape juice.")_. Antonio, though, had been sticking to his 'designated driver' status, and merely ordered sparkling cider. He must have been staring, because Antonio looked up from his plate, mouth full, and raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Lovino just turned away, and he felt his face flush a little. He really needed to get his shit together. If he let the blood rush to his face every time the fucker did something, he was going to burst a blood vessel.

But it was pretty fucking hard not to, with how easily it came to the bastard. He did it without thinking, and seemed to find _enjoyment_ in how his face lit up like a flare every time he did anything swee- _stupid._

Stupid.

That was he meant.

When the asshole did something _stupid,_ it just made him feel weird. Not even in a sex way (that was a whole can of worms that he wasn't going anywhere fucking near unless he had a bazooka and armor), but in a warm, fuzzy, squeamish way. He wished he could say he hated it…but he really _didn't._ And that was the fucking problem. He wanted to punch the stupid bastard in the throat for embarrassing him, and causing the reaction in the first place…but at the same time he wanted to snuggle up to him and hug him and kiss him and all that other girly shit.

Lovino flinched. The damn alcohol was fucking with his head. It was dragging all the mushy shit forward, because it was a _bitch._ Well, good luck, with that. If he was going to be forced to confront them, he was going to get drunk enough that he didn't remember them. Maybe it'd be cathartic, or some other shit his anger-management counselor had said. He tipped his glass back, and ignored the cheers from the German fucker next to him. He was paying for his alcohol, after all.

- _Antonio_ -

After that one downed glass (and subsequent two) at Francis' restaurant, his Lovi seemed to be getting more and more shaken up. By the time they had actually made it into the club, his eyes were glassy and his normal speech patterns were slightly slurred. He had suggested that he call it a night alcohol-wise, but all he had gotten in a response was a mumble about how 'they weren't gone yet'. He didn't know what wasn't gone yet, but he needed to get Lovi's alcohol intake gone, _now._

Antonio dragged the tipsy Italian towards the bar, where Gil's friend Mathias was bartending.

" _Hola,_ Mathias."

" _Hej,_ Tonio! What can I get for ya?"

"Just two waters, please. It's time for someone to cool down."

He reached out to accept them once Mathias was done.

"Ah. Which one are you trying to sober up this time?"

"Oh. You haven't met him, yet. This is Lovi-"

He turned to find Lovino gone.

 _Mierda._

He spun from the left to the right, wondering where the hell he had gone. He could hardly walk straight, how far could he have made it?

Mathias let out a sympathetic groan.

" _Lort,_ man. That sucks. But don't worry, Lukas did the same thing once. I found him locked in a bathroom stall. He'll start to sober up in a bit. It's not like anyone will give him anything else if he's already as plastered as you said."

"I still need to find him, though! I hope he's not going to get into too much trouble while I look…"

- _Antonio-_

It took him about fifteen minutes, but he managed to squeeze his way through the dancing crowds to find Lovino.

 _Mierda._ He noticed the bottle of vodka in one hand, and glowered. Fucking _Ivan._ Of _course_ he would not only bartend to someone clearly drunk out of their skull, he would also offer them his favorite type of alcohol if they couldn't process clearly enough to order themselves. At least it was still mostly full, so he wouldn't die of alcohol poisoning. Little did he know, Lovino had strutted/stumbled up to the bar, smacked down Gil's card, and demanded that the bartender give him some shit that was really, really big and would get him drunk really, _really_ fast. It hadn't been pronounced that clearly, but Ivan had caught the gist. So he merely smiled, swiped the card, and handed him a bottle of his favorite brand of vodka, laughing that weird, scary-ass laugh of his.

Aforementioned Italian had crawled onto the karaoke stage much like Gilbert had, and was staring at the screen with unfocused, yet determined eyes. He mumbled to himself as he pressed buttons, but 'ah-HA'd' when he seemed to have found a song he wanted. Before he could rush up there and wrangle him down (again, like he had to do Gilbert), he had already managed to sit down on the edge of the stage, microphone in hand.

 _Can you see it?  
Can you see it?  
You have to discover me  
What goes wrong when I am crying  
Or what I want when I 'm smiling_

 _Can you feel it?  
Can you feel it?  
That I 'm not a little girl  
You 're misunderstanding my way  
And all the rules that I like to play_

 _My secret combination  
It 's a mystery for you  
Use your imagination  
I 'm not easy but I 'm true_

 _My secret combination  
Boy you have to try it hard  
To win a destination  
In the center of my heart_

Antonio's eyes widened. The lyrics wrapped around him, and the voice (though a little shaky, he had to admit), pulled him forwards. It was like he was Odysseus and Lovi a siren, only there was no post or rope to keep him tethered to the spot, so he just moved. Before he knew it, he had maneuvered through the crowd, and in front of Lovi. Lovi didn't stop singing once, but his gaze was glassy, as if he didn't quite understand what was happening. This was such a bad idea. He was piss drunk, and this wasn't how he wanted it to go. But he tilted down and Lovi tilted up…

Only for Lovi to pass out.

 _MIERDA._

A/N Song is 'Secret Combination' by Kalomoira. Listen to it, and say that it's not the _definition_ of Lovino Romano Vargas.


	11. Morning After

- _Lovino_ -

Lovino woke up to the worst headache he'd ever had in his life. It felt like his brain was going _'haha, motherfucker~'_ and trying to beat its way out of his skull with a goddamn sledgehammer. He groaned, and pulled the covers over his head. _Fuck._ And he really wished the whole _'sun never sets on the Spanish Empire'_ thing _wasn't_ a thing, because the morning sunlight was pouring in through the window and _holyfuckingshitithurtssomuchmakeitstopohmygodIT BURNS-_

He burrowed farther into his burrito of self-loathing, cursing himself and his bad decisions, and whatever demon that had wormed its way into his alcohol, because that was the only way that this hangover could possibly be this bad.

Once the pounding subsided a bit, and he realized that he was going to have to go hunt for some damn painkillers because they weren't going to magically appear next to him, he emerged from his cocoon slowly, as if he was a grumpy caterpillar turning into a pissed off, hungover butterfly. Once his head was cleared from the blankets, he noticed two things. One, this wasn't the room he chose. And two, these weren't the clothes he was wearing last night. Hell, judging from the size and quality, they weren't even _his._

 _FUCK._

He sat up fully, clutching his head when it protested. He took in the room. It was _enormous,_ fairly unorganized, and from the décor, it was pretty simple to tell that it was Antonio's. Posters of bullfighters and star fútbol players alike hung on every wall. Shelves were stacked with books on various topics, some piles larger than others, and a TV was displayed across from the king-sized canopy bed (which was hella more comfortable than his damn _cot_ on campus). The desk in one corner had an open laptop on it, and was cluttered with papers. He hoped that none of the documents shuffled into haphazard order were important. There was a section of the wall with ribbons and awards, which came from both futbol and bullfighting as a youth. Photographs of him alongside his perverted friends and a few other people whom he assumed were family were stuck on the walls as well. And next to the doorway, and above the headboard hung the Spanish flag in all its glory. He scrunched his nose in distaste as he noted that the entire room was a personification of Antonio himself: bright, simple, unorganized, and obsessed with the things he loved.

A snore snapped him out of his musings, and he whipped his head towards the opposite side of the room.

How the _fuck_ had he missed that? He must have been more hungover than he thought.

Because there was Antonio himself, fast-asleep, in all his half-naked glory. He was shirtless, clad only in a low-riding pair of black sweatpants, and he wasn't a cute sleeper _at all._ No, really. He was lying face-down on the loveseat, face smashed against the cushions, and was drooling. But despite that, he couldn't get over the whole _half-naked_ concept. So he did what any reasonable person would do. He yanked the covers up towards his chin, and yelled/screeched.

Neither of them benefited from that decision, because Lovino's head immediately rebelled, and Antonio startled awake so violently that he fell off the sofa. He groaned, and picked himself up off the floor. Met face-to-face with the tanned, muscular torso that he refused to admit how many times he had dreamt of licking, his face burned. Antonio merely yawned and scratched his head. He obviously wasn't a morning person at all.

"Ah, you're awake, Lovi. How's your head?"

"Hurts like a bitch. Why am I here?"

"Well, I had to carry you, and my room was closest."

"You had to _carry me?_ "

" _Si~!_ You passed out about an hour after we got to the club."

He flinched. He was such a damn lightweight. That's what he gets for trying to drink away his damn feelings. They're still here, and now he has a massive headache. _Fuck._

"Tell me right now. Did I do anything potentially blackmail worthy?"

Antonio suddenly looked hunted.

"…Depends."

"Depends on _what,_ you fucker?"

"What you consider blackmail worthy, really."

" _For fuck's sake,_ I'm not a member of your perverted-ass group! What a _normal_ person would consider blackmail worthy!"

Antonio sighed.

"To be honest, Lovi, you did a _lot_ that could be considered blackmail worthy, then."

- _3_ _rd_ _Person-_

 _Antonio panicked as he hurried to catch Lovino before he fell to the floor. The bottle couldn't be saved, unfortunately (or fortunately, in Antonio's opinion), and it shattered near his feet. It was almost as if the sound had broken through whatever thin tether his temper had been holding itself onto._

 _So Antonio picked Lovino up and over his shoulder, and others had taken one look at the man with the dark eyes and an air of 'I'm so_ _ **done,**_ _so move or be moved', and cleared a path for him and the unconscious Italian. It had only taken him a minute to find his friends, and he yanked them all alongside him once he saw them. He grabbed Gilbert off the table with one hand, yanked Francis from whatever conquest he was on, and snatched Matthew, who was also unconscious, up under the arm that wasn't holding Lovino._

 _But Lovino didn't stay down, though._

 _No, he came to for a minute on the way to the car, and lasted until they were half-way home. Antonio had never been through such a test of self-control in his life. Because Lovino seemed adamant that he was going to get in his pants (literally) whether he liked it or not. And other different circumstances, yes, he would like it, like it_ _ **very much,**_ _but at that moment he was drunk and that meant that he probably didn't know what he was doing._

" _You're so hot."_

" _Thank you."_

" _Are you S-spanish or somethin'?"_

" _Yes, I am."_

" _I heard that you guys are awesome lovers. Can I see for myself?"_

" _Not right now, sorry."_

" _Whhyyy? Come on-"_

" _Lovi, no-"_

" _Just-"_

" _No, quit it-"_

" _Just take your damn pants off-"_

" _No-"_

 _And that was how he spent the most sexually-frustrating hour and a half of his life. Because never did he think he would be in a car with a hammered Lovi trying to snatch his hands away from his pants zipper while trying to ignore his half-interested vital regions. He had never been more relieved (and yet so disappointed) than when Lovino had passed out again._

 _-Lovino-_

Lovino didn't know what to say. What could he say? Between the drunken serenade to the sexual harassment, his life had just become a clusterfuck. All he wanted was for a hole to just swallow him whole. Maybe fill it with some molten lava, just because. Because really, how the _fuck_ do you apologize for that?

" _Sorry for sexually harassing you."_

" _Sorry that I got so drunk I lost control of myself."_

" _Sorry for only feeling sorry for not managing to get you naked."_

That last thought was what put all the other ones to shame. It was all their fault. If those stupid, traitorous thoughts would just shut the fuck up, than he wouldn't be in this situation right now. He wouldn't be looking at the face of a man who must have thought he was a total whore. The one time he actually manages to get someone to like his sorry ass, and he gets shit-faced and fucks it up. He almost cried, he was so irritated and mortified.

Antonio had been uncharacteristically quiet while he had his internal dilemma. But as soon as he opened his mouth to say Maria knows what, Antonio swooped in, and kissed him. It wasn't a passionate, rip-your-clothes off kiss, but it wasn't chaste, either. Before he could even really get into it, though, Antonio pulled away, and rested his forehead on his. He wiped the tears that had welled up with his thumbs.

"Just so you know, I didn't mind not one bit. It actually took quite a bit of willpower to turn you down. But now that you're awake, and coherent, let me tell you this. I, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, am pursuing you, Lovino Romano Vargas. No more tricks or subtly. I won't rush you, but I just want you to know that I'm here. And I'll always be here, even if you don't return my feelings. Nothing you do or say is going to make me wave that white flag."

He smiled a cheeky grin.

"Besides, you don't even _know_ what an asshole I am when I'm drunk. I'm sure Gil will tell you quite enthusiastically..."


	12. Behind the Scenes

- _Lovino_ -

Lovino was speechless for about a minute, his mouth opening and closing while his fried brain tried to force words out of his mouth. Antonio merely chuckled, and declared in a chipper voice that he was going to make breakfast. He finally settled on yelling for the bastard to get out so he could get dressed. Antonio had asked in a very serious tone if he could watch, as recompense for last night. He broke out laughing even harder (what the fuck, why did all of these perverts have weird laughs? Was it a requirement? How could someone's chuckles be so sexy while his cackle was so _not?_ ), and ran for the door when he screeched like a fisherman's wife and began throwing the numerous pillows on the bed at him, wishing that A., they were something much, much heavier, and B., he was much, much stronger.

Once he was alone, he let himself flop back down onto the bed. He rolled over a bit, enjoying the size and fluffiness of it, wishing he could have one of these of his own. Bastard probably didn't even appreciate it, anyway; he had slept on a short couch, contorted into a weird position, and yet he had slept like a fucking _log._ And then, because he was immature, he got up and bounced on it a bit. He snickered like an elementary schooler on a sugar-rush, bouncing without caring. Nonno would _never_ have let them do something like this. So he jumped to his heart's content, at least until his bitch of a hangover decided to remind him of its existence, and he stopped immediately.

- _Lovino_ -

He had wandered into the bathroom on a mission. That asshole had to have kept some Tylenol or something in his medicine cabinet. So he strolled up to the sinks, rifling through them. The left one was empty save for some paper cups and extra toothbrushes. The one on the right was fuller, but not by much. Standard stuff: toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash, etcetera, alongside a simple comb, razor, and brush. Wow, the bastard really didn't have to do much in the morning, did he?

That was so fucking unfair.

But he was there for a reason, and he found them on the last shelf. He pulled them down, but because his life was a bitch, all of the things behind it on the overstuffed shelf came toppling down. He grumbled, and bent down to pick them up. The fuck? There had to be like ten orange prescription bottles that had fallen out, and they were all full. Because he was a nosy little shit, he turned them over and inspected the labels. They were all Antonio's and for the same prescription.

 _Anxiety medication?_

What the ever-loving _fuck_ did an over-excitable idiot like Antonio need _anxiety medication_ for? He wasn't trying to be stereotypical, but didn't people with anxiety act all quiet and stressed out and shit? That bastard seemed like the complete _opposite_ of that. And Antonio wasn't even taking them, from the looks of it. He remembered the display that he had witnessed at the arena. That hadn't been what he would have considered normal, Antonio-esque behavior either.

He had to ask about this. He was in lo- _like_ , with the moron, after all.

- _Lovino_ -

"Antonio's not taking his medication?"

Francis' eyebrows scrunched as Lovino hissed the information. They were sitting in the main room, waiting for Antonio to finish breakfast. Gilbert was still passed out in his bed, and Francis assured him that the smell of food usually punched him awake as good as anything. Matthew was hiding under his covers, much like he had, and he had just promised to bring him up a plate and some painkillers as a sort of apology for last night (Francis claimed that for someone so shy, Matthew became rather blunt and kind of rude when intoxicated).

"I don't think so. I mean, there were a bunch of unopened pill bottles for the same damn thing."

Francis sighed.

"He had sworn to us that he was. We should have checked."

"Checked for what, damn it? I know that it's not your place or whatever, but if I'm going to be trying to do… _whatever_ …with the asshole, I need to know!"

"Keep your voice down! Fine. Fine. I'll give you an overview. But you _have_ to go to the source if you have any questions, you understand?"

He ran a hand over his face.

"Antonio's family…they weren't the best people. In fact, they were the worst people. They were like a storm cloud; everywhere they went, they spread disaster, devastation, and destruction. As far as the family tree had been tracked, up until his grandfather took over, the head of the Carriedo family had been a ruthless dictator, ruling over both his family and his soldiers with an iron fist. Antonio and his older brother Fernando were both raised in that toxic environment, and learned about the dark side of life when they were very young.

They were taught that the ruthless were victorious, and that the selfless were a weak speck to be crushed beneath your foot. They were taught to fight, to trample; to lie, cheat, and even kill if the need arose. Fernando thrived in that environment, but Antonio didn't. He grew up just as bad, of course, but he had a lot more trouble just brushing it off like Fernando did. His father beat him regularly, spitting that he was a disgrace to his family and that weakness ran through his veins, tainting him. His grandfather, who Antonio inherited his love of bullfighting from, realized just how bad the situation was, and in the middle of the night, he stole Antonio away, and fled to America.

At least from where Gil and I first met him, he was a total, utter bastard. But as we befriended him, he slowly dropped the persona, and morphed into the lovable idiot we know today. He was just a regular teenager, who lived for futbol, hated math with a passion, stuffed his face, pranked other students, and loved to help his grandfather garden. He lived under a new name, in a new place, and his troubles couldn't reach him anymore. Sure, he still had nightmares from before, and guilt from what he'd done and the crimes he'd committed, but he had moved on to the best of his abilities. It was all well and fine.

But when his grandfather grew old, and was on his deathbed, he told Antonio that _he_ was his successor, not his father, or his older brother. His final wish was that none of the others got their hands on any of his belongings; that they never saw a dime. Too much blood had been spilled over those items; too many lives ended in exchange for money. And his grandfather wanted it to end before he closed his eyes. Antonio had cried, but promised.

It was when his father had stepped up to claim what was his that he found out it wasn't. He'd called Antonio a liar and a traitor, but what was done was done. Even when he took legal steps, the will clearly said that everything, and I mean _everything,_ was togo to Antonio. All the blood money, all the stolen items, all of the fruit of the corrupt actions his family had taken, Antonio wanted none of it. But he wouldn't go against his grandfather's wishes either. So he was cast out of the family, never to be spoken of or to again, under his father's orders.

It broke our poor Toni's heart. Even if they _were_ despicable, they were still his flesh and blood. So for a while, he grappled with crippling anxiety, afraid to touch, hear, or see anything that was a remnant of his old lifestyle. When we three moved in, he began to purge everything from the house. He threw things away, locked things up, and gave things to charities. He promised himself that he would lead a simple life, just as he had done before, and become a bullfighter, just as he had dreamed.

But he still needs to take that medication. It helps with flashbacks and relapses. I'd wondered why he'd been so testy lately."

Lovino blinked. It didn't seem like it could be possible. And then Antonio called out in that carefree tone of voice of his, and he felt like crying again. Not even for himself, but for the small Antonio whose life had been ruined so young. But…he understood him a little better. He knew what to expect. And if _Antonio_ ever felt like crying, well...

He hoped that his shoulder would do.

A/N I'M SO SORRY, BUT THIS PART IS IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT. I almost cried while writing it. Poor Toni T.T


	13. Abduction

- _Lovino_ -

He groaned, and smacked his head on the table in front of him. He was _trying_ to focus on his _proffesore's_ lecture, but his head kept ringing with stupid thoughts of that green-eyed idiot. If he kept this up, the next two months here were going to be hell.

" _Is he alright? Should I confront him?"_

" _No. It's not my place."_

" _But I'm concerned…"_

" _NO! You. Are._ _ **Not.**_ **"**

" _Stupid Spaniard with his stupidly dreamy green eyes, fucking sultry accent, and damn nice ass-"_

It was at that point that Lovino had yelled/screeched out in utter terror, and everyone's eyes shot towards him. He felt his face burn, and he mumbled that he saw a rat in the corner. Immediately, people were standing up, sitting on desks, and a few left the room, despite the teacher's best efforts to calm them down.

He decided to exit stage left at that point.

- _Lovino_ -

He flopped face down onto his bed. He recollected against his will the sheer, utter, blissful fluffiness of Antonio's bed, and his cheeks reddened at the thought of how much better it would be with the Spaniard _in it._ But all of these thoughts could go straight down to hell, because that's where he would rather be than admit them to the other's face.

It was ridiculous just how irritating one idiot could be without even being present.

His phone buzzed, and Lovino sighed, and looked at the screen. It was another selfie of Antonio, this time with his pet bull and turtles. He had balked at the thought of him keeping a bull as a pet, but Antonio had told him the story. Apparently, during one of his first fights, they had a bull who refused to go out into the arena. He watched in utter terror as they dragged it, unwilling, and shut the gate. Now a normal person would claim that this was an easy fight, and finish it lickity-split. But of course that pure-hearted imbecile had refused to fight something that didn't fight back, and took it in as a pet. One would think that a bull would be all ' _ha-ha fucker~'_ and turn on him, but the damn thing was like his dog, only bigger, and a lot more threatening.

But Antonio had begged for (and then demanded, when Lovino did his whole embarrassed cussing shtick) his number over that Saturday breakfast, and he had mumbled and grumbled, but gave it to him under the condition that he not send him stupid shit. And of course that fucker proceeded to send nothing _but_ stupid shit.

Selfies of himself with his pets, at stores he was visiting, and with his stupid friends. He texted him updates on random shit that'd happened, and asked Lovino if anything interesting had happened to him. He always used a different fucking… _pet name_ … in each of his texts as well.

A basket of ripe tomatoes on his countertop.

' _Look, Lovi! I had an awesome harvest this morning, mi querido!'_

A picture of him and his 'pets'.

' _The turtles and Senor Toro miss you just as much as I do, mi estrella!'_

His friends on a crowded street, munching on pastries.

' _I love these! They're really sweet, but not as sweet as you mi corazon :D'_

' _I got a hole in my favorite harvesting pants, Lovi D: I guess it time for new ones, si mi amor?'_

He knew it was girly and shit, but the pet names didn't piss him off as much as they should have. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he… _enjoyed_ having someone be affectionate towards him, for once. And you might say, _'well, Lovino, if you were nicer then you would have more friends, like Feliciano!',_ and to that, he'd say _'fuck you'_. Because he wasn't nice. He wasn't nice, or sweet, or bubbly, or cheerful, and he didn't _want_ to be. And if people just shrugged and pushed him aside, then whatever.

Didn't mean it didn't sting like a motherfucker, though.

So yes, Antonio _was_ a rare exception to the normal rule, but that didn't mean he was going to do something rash and snuggle up to him or anything.

- _Lovino_ -

He had gotten up to use the restroom in the middle of the night when it had happened.

He was walking back, about to get back into bed, when he noticed the open window. He scrunched his brows. He was sure he'd closed that before he went to bed. As a matter of fact, it was closed when he had gotten up to the bathroom.

 _What the fuck?_

He walked over, eyebrows scrunched and on high alert as he slammed it shut again. Before he could shuffle back towards the bed, still wary, someone grabbed him, and put a cloth over his mouth. He struggled, attempting to head-butt the hell out of his captor, but his attempts proved futile, and he couldn't help but shed a few scared tears as he fell unconscious.

The culprit waited a moment for the Italian's movements to die down, before removing the cloth from his face. He threw him over his shoulder, and searched the room. He found his prize on the bed; the young Italian's cell-phone. He clicked in the passcode, which his… _informants…_ had gotten for him. He 'tch'ed in distaste as he looked over the past messages. Fucker was as stupid as ever.

Typing in a quick message, he dumped the cell on the bed, re-opened the window, and lowered the bait down towards the waiting men below, who tied him, gagged him, and threw him into the back of a discreet, black SUV. He jumped down himself, and climbed into the driver's seat. Chuckling darkly, he drove off into the night, the only trace left being the text message he had sent.

- _Antonio_ -

Antonio had been startled awake by his cell-phone buzzing by his ear. He normally didn't answer it, but the tone he set for his Lovi's number jolted him awake quick as a whip. What could Lovi be texting him for at this hour? It was past midnight.

He flipped open his phone, and his blood ran frigidly cold and yet somehow boiling hot as he read the message that had been sent from _Lovi's phone._

' _Come to the old warehouse. You know the one. Clock's ticking,_ _ **gilipollas**_ _(asshole, shithead, you get the gist). Get here too slow, and you won't be the only one facing the consequences.'_

He jumped out of bed, rushing towards his closet. As he snatched something out of a box in the very back, a familiar feeling he thought he had lost the ability to feel long ago pulsing through his veins.

 _Cold, dark, burning_ _ **bloodlust.**_

He knew that the medicine was keeping it at bay, but he still figured it was locked away sufficiently. Oh, was he wrong. He couldn't help but crack a twisted smile as he shot down the stairs, turning down the darkest corridor past the living room. He had kept everyone in the center, most lit part of the house, but it was down the darkest pathways were all the _interesting_ things were kept. No sun ever reached this section of the house, so the cold, drafty air may as well have been the icy fingers of ghosts as he reached his destination.

Intimidating portraits lined the walls of the corridor he was stalking down, and their eyes seemed to follow the young man who was running past them. They seemed to whisper among themselves, acknowledging that he was one of _**them.**_

Opening his clenched fist, it was revealed that what he held was a key. He shoved it in the lock, turned it, and kicked the door open. A layer of dust shot up from the long-neglected room, and he stomped down the stairs, grabbing a flashlight off the table. Clicking it on, he found himself face to face with the pride of the Fernandez-Carriedo legacy.

 _The armory._

It held the choice weapons of all the past members of the _familia._ His great-grandfather's sword. His grandmother's knives. His great-uncle's guns. The glass cases held the unspoken records of every violent crime committed for the search of a gold-lined dream; power, wealth, and influence. But he wasn't there to take a trip down the utterly fucked-up memory lane. He stood before his _old friend,_ hand trembling as he reached forward. This had starred in a multitude of his nightmares, and he wasn't ready to relive them.

But his Lovi was in danger.

That seemed to snap him out of it.

Hesitation gone, he wrapped his hand around the wooden handle, letting its memories wash over him. It was just as he'd remembered. Pulling it down, he marveled at the weight, and how light it seemed compared to when he was first learning. Giving the axe an experimental swing, the blade sang as it cut through the air. It was like he wasn't out of practice at all. It was an extension of himself; and his muscles remembered it, as if it's only been a day instead of almost ten years. His twisted smile grew larger, and he rested it on his shoulder while texted his friends. Once he was done, he carried it out to the car, and drove to the place that he'd never forget for as long as he'd live.


	14. Showdown

- _Lovino_ -

His head hurt, and he was cold. The fact that he was cold put him on high alert, because he hadn't been cold since he had arrived in Spain. He had been pleasantly warm, sweltering hot, and everything in-between, but never cold. He tried to sit up, but found it damn near impossible. For one, his limbs felt heavy, as if he'd been running a marathon for _days._ Everything hurt. The cold, unforgiving stone floor didn't help at all, either. Secondly, his arms and legs were bound, and _boy_ did he underestimate the importance of his limbs in something as simple as fucking _sitting up._

So he was just stuck wriggling like a worm, trying desperately to right himself. At least, until a booted foot landed square against his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. He gasped for air, curling in on himself.

"Stop squirming, you pathetic piece of shit. I don't know what the fuck that moron sees in you, but for your sake, he better get here soon."

Lovino struggled to raise his head. He tried to speak around his gag, but all that came out was an incomprehensible mumble. His captor seemed to get the gist of it though.

"…W-who…the fuck…are you?"

"Doesn't matter who I am, you fucking homo. All that matters is that your _boyfriend_ comes to collect his whore."

Lovino wanted to cuss at him, but he still wasn't sure what he was dealing with. Contrary to popular belief, he _did_ know when to shut his mouth. The boot came down on his back, and he groaned in pain.

"Fucking disgusting. Who the _hell_ in their right mind would put someone like _him_ in charge of anything? Old bastard must have been out of his mind."

Lovino struggled to breathe. It felt like his lungs were being squeezed in a too-tight corset. He was about to pass out when the sound of men screaming in agony assaulted his eardrums. His captor scowled, and Lovino gulped in air as the boot was lifted.

"Ah. He's here."

Lovino watched wide-eyed as the door of the compound slammed open, and Antonio walked in.

He was, _different._

Like… _ **really different.**_

From the way he walked, to the way he was dressed, everything about him was different. He had seen him in vibrant clothing, but at that moment he was dressed in all black; from the shirt, to the boots, to the gloves. His ever-present grin wasn't present, instead it was replaced with a cold-blooded, frigid scowl. But that all dimmed in the fact that he was carrying an _enormous fucking_ _ **axe**_ on his shoulder.

 _What the_ _ **fuck.**_

Where do you even get one like that? It looked like one that a Spanish conquistador might have back in the 1500-1600's or something. The handle was a deep wood, but the blade was shining threateningly, even in the dim light. The decorations on in it made it seem almost hauntingly beautiful, but there was no mistaking how utterly lethal it was to the wrong person. Lovino almost gagged at the drops of crimson fluid that were slowly making their way down the blade, and onto the ground.

"Ah! It looks like I'll need a clean-up crew and some new recruits. You always were the type to just swing, and those who moved survived and those who didn't died. Anyway, I'm _so glad_ to jjsee you decided to join us, _mi hermano._ "

Brother? _This_ was Antonio's brother?

"Cut the shit, Fernando. Let him go."

"Hm…no."

Lovino grunted as he was yanked up by hair, and soon a knife was under his throat. He tried to move away from it, but it was so close that even swallowing seemed dangerous. Antonio's expression didn't waiver, but his grip on his axe tightened, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

" _Lo puso abajo. Esto es entre tú y yo."_

'Put him down. This is between you and me.'

" _¿Por qué diablos debo hacer eso? Tomaste algo importante de mi parte; se trata de un comercio justo."_

'Why the fuck should I do that? You took something important from me; it's a fair trade.'

" _Yo ni siquiera quiero en primer lugar!"_

'I didn't even want it in the first place!'

" _Eso no importa!"_

'That doesn't matter!'

Lovino winced as the grip on his hair tightened, and flinched as he felt the first prick against his throat. Antonio followed the movement of the knife, and his scowl increased ten-fold. Fernando dropped his calm, detached façade, finally snapping and shouting at his younger brother.

"That doesn't matter, because you fucking ruined this family! You RUINED it! We were _royalty_ before you had to step in and fuck shit up!"

"It wasn't me-"

"It was our bat-shit crazy grandfather, I know. But instead of helping us in our time of need, you turned your back on us and everything we built as a family!"

"Don't insult him like that! And fuck helping you! What about all the people whose lives _you_ ruined?! Where was _their_ help?"

"You chose them over your own family?!"

"MY FAMILY CHOSE POWER OVER ME!"

Fernando shrank back, the force of Antonio's yell almost a physical blow. Lovino had never seen a man's face contort like his- it looked like it was cycling through several expressions, as if it couldn't decide what to choose. It settled on the cold scowl that he had worn on the way in, only harder and sharper.

"When it became apparent that I wasn't going to bend the hell over and let you continue your reign of terror, all of a sudden I was a stain on the bottom of your boots; unworthy to even be acknowledged. You were all so focused on making sure that the sun didn't set on your own sick, twisted little empire that I was considered useless. You never even said you loved me. Never even told me you _tolerated_ me."

He raised the axe into a more threatening position, and it became clear to both Lovino and Fernando that yes, he was prepared to use it, and _no,_ he would not feel the slightest bit guilty about it.

"And I will be _damned,_ if I let any of you disgusting animals lay your hands on _anyone_ I care about, and who _truly_ cares about me. So either you let him go willingly…."

His grip tightened even more, and his scowl turned into a glare so powerful that Lovino felt a shudder run down his spine.

"Or I will chop off your fucking hands off and _make you._ "

- _3_ _rd_ _Person_ -

Lovino was thrown to the side roughly, and he was torn between being grateful for not having a knife against his throat, and swearing at the pain of being thrown onto a stone floor. With a great deal of effort, he rolled over, and fought until he was sitting upright. He leaned over and groaned through his gag, but watched in horrified fascination as Antonio charged at his brother.

Now that he could actually see him, the relation was clear as day. They both had the same brunette curls (though Fernando's was longer), tanned skin, and facial structure. But what was different were the eyes. If Antonio's eyes were emeralds, the others eyes were smoky quartz. The brown was light enough to almost be considered hazel, but not quite. They moved with the grace of those who had done this thousands of times before, both with outsiders, and against each other. And Lovino was right, they had done this against each other more times than either could count. But this was different. Fernando wielded his knives (when had he pulled out a second one?) with the intent to slit a throat, and Antonio swung his axe with the intent to dismember.

They ducked and sliced, dancing a deadly waltz that one missed step meant the end, permanently, for one of the partners. Lovino attempted to cry out and failed when Fernando got a lucky shot in, giving a nice, clean cut to Antonio's upper arm. Antonio paid it no mind, swinging in retaliation, narrowly missing chopping the other's arm clean off. Lovino didn't understand how Antonio could twirl and swing that thing around so easily. It looked heavy, and probably _was_ heavy. But Antonio used it to his advantage, giving it destructive power with every blow.

He didn't know how long it lasted, but it was over in a flash. Fernando had been steadily backing away, trying to keep out of reach of Antonio's weapon, when he slipped. He fell backwards, and Antonio took his chance. He raised the weapon over his head, and brought it down.

It was quiet for a while, the only sound being the exhausted huffs of two men, and groans of pain. Lovino strained to look. He was let out a victorious yell when he saw Fernando on the ground, unresponsive. But it turned into a look of horror when he noticed that not all of the blood was his. Antonio pulled his axe out of the ground where it had embedded itself, and severed his brother's arm. But he fell to his knees, and Lovino let out a terrified scream when he noticed the wound in Antonio's side, which was bleeding rather steadily. Antonio had brought his weapon down at the same time that Fernando had thrust his upwards, leaving neither of them unscathed.

All Lovino could do was shriek as Antonio fell to his knees, and then to the floor.

-A/N-

CLIFFHANGER DUNDUNDUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNN!


	15. Recovery

- _Antonio_ -

It was dark.

It was dark, and cold.

Why was it so cold in here? Even if it _was_ nighttime, it shouldn't be this freezing, and it was wet. It shouldn't be wet, either, but his clothes were steadily getting damp. Was it raining? It shouldn't have been; they were in the middle of summer, after all.

And _sweet Maria,_ did his side hurt.

Oh, that's right. He'd gotten stabbed.

As soon as he acknowledged the memory, the shock wore off, and pain exploded down his side. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was grit his teeth in agony. _Dios_ _ **mio**_ _,_ he'd forgotten how much this hurt. He hadn't been stabbed like this before, though. Figures Fernando'd be the one to do it.

He heard footsteps, and yelling. All the voices muddled together, though. He couldn't really decipher any of them, too busy trying not to thrash and make the pain worse. He felt unconsciousness creep up on him, and he welcomed the release from the pain. He heard more yelling, closer this time, but he still couldn't decipher it. But then he felt that he was being moved (OW, _**merida**_ ), and then he heard the voice he knew better than his own. He could understand _that_ voice perfectly.

"Antonio!"

Ah, that was his Lovi, wasn't it?

" _Antonio!"_

Why did he sound so sad? Was it his fault? This was awful.

"I swear if you die on me you asshole, I'll never forgive you! You promised! You promised that you wouldn't wave the white flag! Well, keep your fucking promise, then!"

He had promised that, hadn't he? He wanted to comfort _su corazon,_ but his arms felt too heavy, and he couldn't seem to form words, no matter how hard he tried.

"I mean it you asshole! Don't you dare die on me! I love you too much for you to do something like that to me! Wait, what are you doing? I'm fucking fine, let me-no! Let me go, you fucking-"

"Lovino. LOVINO. Calm down. They're taking him to be treated. He'll pull through. That awesome asshole always was too stubborn to stay down."

"NO. I have to-"

"He'll be _fine._ Don't worry."

"If he dies on me-"

"He wouldn't do that to you. So just calm down, and let them look over you."

Ah, Gilbert was here as well? And Francis? That was good. They'd protect Lovi. He trusted them.

So with that, he allowed himself to fall deeper into the darkness, and everything faded away.

- _Antonio_ -

His eyes fought their way open, and immediately shut again. Why was it so bright in here? It was like he was staring at the sun. Opening them even slower this time, he managed to allow them to adjust enough to where he could open them without being blinded. He turned his head to the left and the right, taking in his surroundings. He was in a hospital room, which he could tell from the sterile walls, hard chairs, and annoying beeping. He also had something very uncomfortable in his vital regions, so there was that, as well. His head felt fuzzy. They must have him on the _good_ drugs. He couldn't help but snicker at his own immaturity. He heard voices coming down the corridor, stopping in front of his room.

"I swear, they need to make the chairs in these places more comfortable."

"Well, you sit in them for like eight hours straight. How do you get past visitation?"

"I'm fucking Lovino Romano Vargas. If I want to sit in the damn room all day, then that's what I'm going to do."

"You, kid, have earned my awesome stamp of approval."

"Not that I need it, but whatever, I guess."

They entered the room, and Lovino eyes widened to the size of Christmas plates when he saw him. He waved.

" _Hola, mi amor."_

- _3_ _rd_ _Person_ -

After being snuggled/cussed at by a hysterical Lovino, Antonio been checked out by the doctor now that he was awake. Unfortunately, his bullfighting season was over prematurely, but he was alive, so that was fine. And he would just have to give it his all next season, is all!

Antonio's friends had rushed in only moments after Antonio fell, guns at the ready. They took in the gruesome scene, and Gilbert swore and set to untying Lovino while Francis called for an ambulance. They had secured Antonio's scary-ass axe while they waited, Gilbert running it out to his car before emergency services showed up.

Lovino had been quite wily, refusing treatment in an effort not to lose contact with the unconscious Spaniard. But after being soothed by the other two men, he had calmed down enough for paramedics to check him out. He had suffered sprained ankle, numerous cuts and scrapes, and a mild concussion from being thrown onto the floor, but he was otherwise stable. Antonio, however, had been a little more…severe. The knife hadn't punctured any internal organs, but it _had_ sunk quite deep into his abdomen. It took numerous doctors around four hours and a blood transfusion before he was in stable condition. He'd been fading in and out of consciousness for about a week. The incision itself wasn't wide or long, just very, _very_ deep. And a few stitches on his right upper arm left that good-as-new.

After that whole debacle, Lovino moved himself into Antonio's house (he needed to watch over that idiot, damn it!), and finally, formally agreed to become Antonio's lover. Gilbert had realized just how short life really was, and had knocked on Matthew's door, stuttering in a most-unawesome way through a request for a date. Matthew had beamed, and gave an enthusiastic 'of course', standing on tip-toes to kiss his cheek.

Fernando was detained after treatment, awaiting trial on everything from burglary, to kidnapping, to attempted murder. He just silently glared at the wall of his cell, the loss of his right arm sparking a continuous cycle of _'lossangerrevengelossangerrevengelossangerrevenge-'_

They were somewhat worried about his mental state at that point.

And everyone continued on to the best of their abilities, getting back into the groove of things. And when summer ends…

Well, who really knows for sure will happen then?

-END-

Fail ending fails. But I hope you liked it anyway! There might be a sequel to this, but I need to plan first. Until then, bloom like a lily and be merry like it's Christmas!


End file.
